Dauntless Pluck
by SyrticSyncopator
Summary: A collection of oneshots for the 'Snow-walker' trilogy by Catherine Fisher.
1. Skapti's Kantele

**Owned by:** Catherine Fisher

**Warning:** slight J/K

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**Dauntless Pluck**

**1: Skapti's Kantele**

**Summary:** Jessa and Kari give Skapti the one thing he thought he'd never see again.

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The tall skald known as Skapti leaned against the tall tree in the forest. It had only been two days since he and his friends had returned from their journey to the ends of the earth to rescue Signi's soul and save the others in Jarlshold.

_"How could you?" Jessa asked gently._

_"No choice. We had to get warm." He smiled wanly at the burning wood of the kantele._

In sacrificing his minstrelling instrument, he had saved his friends from freezing to death, yet he still missed it dearly. He hadn't the heart to look for a new one, either; he had grown accustomed to his old kantele, and replacing it seemed wrong to him.

Like replacing a friend, he thought, and closed his eyes, letting ideas for new songs flood his mind.

His thoughts were interrupted by a cough, and he looked up to see Jessa and Kari standing over him. Jessa had her hands behind her back, a mischievous glint in both her and Kari's eyes. They exchanged glances, and Skapti bent his head down again, a smile on his face.

"What trouble are you getting yourselves into now? Surely it must be something big."

"No," the pale boy replied, "we've gotten you a gift."

"I've already told you, I don't want a new kantele! It-"Skapti stopped, seeing a wide grin spread on Jessa's face.

She carefully pulled her first hand out from behind her back, empty. She pulled the second one out, too, but in it was something the wiry skald hadn't dreamt of seeing.

"My kantele!" He cried, and Jessa handed it to him. He stood, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and lips twisted in a foolish grin.

"We noticed how sad you were, so Kari sent the ravens to see if there was anything left. He did the rest." Jessa said, and Kari nodded shyly.

"Well I thank you both. There will most definitely be a tale of Kari Ragnarsson and Jessa Horolfsdaughter. Perhaps a courageous tale of love?" He laughed, seeing heat rise to Jessa's cheeks, and Kari's face turn a faint pink.

He left them there, his kantele under his arm, making his way to the entrance of the Jarlshold.

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	2. Waiting

**Owned by: **Catherine Fisher

**Warning: **slight J/K

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**Dauntless Pluck**

**2: Waiting**

**Summary: **Kari learns what it means to miss someone, and even greater, learns the agony of waiting for their return.

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He walked through the empty corridors of Thrasirshall ,his mouth pulled tightly in a frown. It had been a week since he returned to his 'icy kingdom', and he was happy, but...something was missing. In the sixteen years he'd been alive, he'd felt many things, but this was new to him. It was a distinct emptiness, somewhat like a void - not satiated by any of his previous attempts to quell it.

Kari finally stopped walking, quickly becoming aware of his position in front of Brochael's door. The large man had insisted on taking care of Kari, even though he would have nothing of it, and acted as a self-appointed guardian. The boy didn't argue; he liked having him around. Now he approached the man for advice and felt a slight nervousness, although for what reason he did not know.

Brochael was sitting in his chair by a small window, completely unaware of Kari's presence. In his large hands rested an object the young man could not see, but he could tell it was important from the way the brute stared at it, mesmerized with a smirk on his face. His trance was broken when Kari took a step toward him.

"What brings you here?" He asked, sneakily stuffing the item into his pocket.

"What was that?" Kari asked, ignoring Brochael's question. The burly man sighed, withdrawing the now-crumpled paper he had stashed away only moments prior. It was a scroll, tied with bright blue lace. He handed it to Kari, eliciting a confused glance and a quirked eyebrow, and then shooed him out of his quarters.

Kari reached his tower room and wearily placed himself in the chair by the window, bringing his knees up to his chest and coiling his arms around his legs. He untied the ribbon and uncurled the letter, anxious and bothered by his caretaker's abnormal behavior.

_Kari,_

_I've discussed it with Brochael, and we both agree that I come to stay in Thrasirshall. I hope it doesn't seem that I'm barging I; it's just I've run into a bit of trouble involving an old man, an Thorkil, and Horolfstead._

_I'd realized owning the land was rather bothersome since I've taken to traveling lately, so I chose to sell the land to a man whom Thorkil deemed 'unfit to care for it'. In short, he acted rashly and I took the blame. Somehow, my 'banishment' to Thrasirshall will act as punishment for some rich man's burnt crops._

_I've already started my trek, so it should not take more than two days for my arrival._

_Always,_

_Jessa _

Kari smiled at the thought of the young woman throwing insults at her cousin. He wouldn't have expected Thorkil to do something so spontaneous, though, since Jessa was the more impulsive out of the two. The thought of her coming to stay in Thrasirshall excited him, and the emptiness he'd felt slightly eased.

Maybe that's what was missing..., he thought, and now, even though darkness had fallen and his eyelids drooped, he felt a restless urge to keep awake until Jessa arrived. However, for once in his short existence, his body overruled his extremely-powerful mind and he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

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	3. Changes

**Owned by: **Catherine Fisher

**Warning: **Brochael-centric

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**Dauntless Pluck **

**3: Changes**

**Summary: **Brochael contemplates the changes that have been brought upon the inhabitants of Thrasirshall and the memories he had almost forgotten.

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The burly man known as Brochael was extremely puzzled, as he usually was by Kari Ragnarsson, the snow-walker who he'd been given the task of watching over for fourteen years. The boy was now sixteen, and Brochael had found that, after their adventures to the land of the rune-speakers, he seemed livelier, even if it was only slightly. Immediately after their return, he'd taken to roaming the grounds instead of watching them from his room. He felt free now that he was not under the watch of his all-seeing mother, and caution was something he barely used nowadays.

Brochael had changed as well, but he had come to the conclusion that it was only in minor ways. He felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders, although he didn't know why. He still watched over Kari, they still resided in the snowy fortress, and they were both unscarred. Or so he believed.

It only struck him a week after their return that Kari seemed less pale than when they had set out on their adventures, and, although he spoke very little, he had acquired a cheeriness about him that the giant couldn't describe. He often exchanged letters with Skapti, Jessa, and Hakon, and had even received a few from Thorkil. He had made friends, and they had helped him conquer a demon of his past so large it practically controlled his life, but now with it gone, they could speak to each other easily.

When Kari did take to his quarters, instead of sitting in an illimitable silence, he now drew pictures or wrote in a journal Jessa had given him as a parting gift … but what he wrote was a mystery to Brochael.

This lasted until he happened upon Kari's journal, the boy nowhere to be found. It was open to the front page, and, curiosity finally nagging Brochael into action, he picked it up and began to read.

When he had at last finished the several pages that had been written, he realized they told a story -their story- and all at once he was bombarded with memories of their travels, memories that he hadn't thought of until reading about the events in the journal. He tried to fool himself into thinking nothing had happened and things were as they always had been, just Kari and Brochael apart from the rest of the world, but the impressions his friends left upon him was too great, and with a partially defeated ,partially joyful sigh, he closed the journal and set about the task of finding the snow-walker.

"Changes can bring out the worst in us in some cases, but I believe in this instance they have brought out the best."


	4. The Ball

**Owned by: **Catherine Fisher; credit to daydream14 for the concept

**Warning: **blatantJ/K

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**Dauntless Pluck**

**4: The Ball **_requested and inspired by_ daydream14

**Summary: **In which Kari tires of indifference and Jessa abandons her stubbornness.

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'I **cannot** believe this! Why couldn't it be a normal celebration, or festival... ?'

Jessa discarded the parcel she'd received the evening before, inviting her to attend a ball at the Jarlshold to celebrate the anniversary of Gudrun's defeat. She knew it would be rude to not attend; she was a close friend of Wulfgar and knew her other friends had been invited and were most likely intent on going to the ball. She was excited at the thought of seeing them, but still ...

Jessa Horolfsdaughter would not dance.

She was a wonderful dancer, so lack of dancing skills was out of the question. Anyone who'd heard of Jessa knew she was outspoken, so shyness wasn't a problem. She just chose to rebel against such frivolous antics, especially when they involved partners who weren't - well, partners who held no respect for her or her opinions.

"Ugh!" She dug through her closet frantically before giving a sigh of relief, having found the perfect dress to wear to the ball...

Not that Jessa Horolfsdaughter wanted to impress anyone.

Kari was so shocked, he couldn't think of just one word to describe what he saw; instead several came to mind.

Apocalypse. Impossible. Insane. Illusion. Beautiful.

He shook his head as if to shake the last thought away, but the word seemed to be the best description of what he saw. Of course, he thought this image beautiful anyway, but even more so now. Not that he judged anyone by physical attributes.

As he and Brochael had been explaining their recent travels to Wulfgar, _she_walked in, snow-white ball gown flowing and elegant. It seemed as if she was an icy princess, such as the ones he'd read about in foreign books while he'd been gone for several months with his guardian on a journey. Or, he mused, she could even pass as one of his kind, a snow-walker from the frigid lands of the far north, although her chestnut hair contradicted any idea of this.

He watched from the corner of his eye as Hakon greeted her and offered his arm, inviting her to dance with him. She refused, to his relief (although why he really wasn't sure), and scanned the room as if searching for someone. Her face visibly brightened as she caught sight of him, and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards ever-so-slightly. He couldn't allow the others to see his emotions; he hated when people felt they knew so much about him, as if they had delved into his mind.

Not a moment later, he found himself face to face with Jessa, barely paying attention to anything else.

That is until Wulfgar suggested they dance.

The two teens stared appalled at the Jarl, much to his and Brochael's amusement. The men shared a knowing glance before each pushed one teen towards the other and out into the mass of other couples dancing.

They swirled around amongst the other people, each trying to focus on something other than one another, until Jessa realized how foolish she was being and Kari finally grew tired of feigning indifference. They shared a grin, like they had so many times before.

And amongst the dancing couples, laughter could be heard from one that was truly happy.


	5. Fate

**Owned by: **Catherine Fisher

**Warning: **moderate J/K, character death

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**Dauntless Pluck**

**5: Fate**

**Summary: **"Fate is cruelest to the most deserving."

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Cold.

Numb and unfeeling.

Perpetually reserved and holding an air of something reminiscent of dominance.

The snow-walker's lips pulled into a scowl as he scrutinized, concealing all other emotions, as per usual. His focus was on a young woman who donned a mane of chestnut tresses, and although his features were impassive, his eyes portrayed the ache and puzzlement that festered inside of him.

Her form was still, her skin more pallid than his own, her eyes wide and glassy. Calloused yet somehow elegant fingers were woven together and lay on the bodice of her jade dress, contrasting in a wonderful way.

"How?" The young man asked, uncaring that his voice had now betrayed the façade he'd sported up until that point. "How did she - ?"

The other occupant of the room was sullen, for once not bearing the smile that had everlastingly graced his lips. The man shifted uncomfortably, but spun his tale despite his unease.

"Drowned, actually. She was on a mission for Wulfgar and . . . she was pushed onto thin ice. From what I've been told, Thorkil and Hakon dove in after her, and she was already deathly cold by the time they pulled her out. Hypothermia set in, and then …" Kari nodded. Of course the cold would get to her; she always did like the snow.

Skapti continued, "They said it was a mere girl, traveling with Jessa to a village some miles away . . . she was angry that she spoke so highly of a snow-walker … she snapped." Skapti's stopped abruptly when he realized that Kari was not actually listening, just nodding torpidly every sentence or two.

"I'm sorry," the skald muttered, deciding to take his leave. Only when the scrape of wood on stone met his ears did Kari look up. Immediately his eyes returned to the frail form before him, willing his magic to help him the one time he truly needed it. He stood stock-still, anxiously awaiting her to sit up and grin at him, make her anger known as she always did, anything but lie on that table for all to see.

"No," he whispered, and once again he became as cold and indifferent as he'd ever been. The person who'd taken time to understand him and ask his opinion was gone, disappeared into the unknown just like his iniquitous mother. Jessa did not deserve that fate.

He sighed, glancing once more at the girl before choosing his words, unsure if they were to himself or the corpse, "Fate is cruelest to the most deserving."


	6. Proud

**Owned by: **Catherine Fisher

**Warning: **suggestion of J/K

**Note: **Thanks to Suzu for the much-appreciated correction!

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**Dauntless Pluck**

**6: ****Proud**

**Summary: **As they prepare for Jarlshold, Brochael and Kari have an interesting discussion.

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Brochael was known for many things: brute strength, subtle cunning, and, of course, his abnormally-large stature. He was, however, also a father-figure to none other than Kari Ragnarsson. The rune-speaker had been placed in his care by the Gudrun at a very early age, and ever since Brochael had watched over him in the way a father would his own son, instructing him on life and helping him along. So, like all father-figures, he would be forced to let his "son" go out into the world and live, even if it concerned him to no end.

The case was such when the pale boy had approached him with a serious demeanor (more so than usual) and a resolve shining bright within his eyes. It was then that Brochael realized Kari would soon set out on another journey, one that he could not accompany him on.

"Brochael ... the ice is melting." This was not news to either of them; Gudrun's magic had slowly begun to die away since her defeat. "Thasirshall's old as it is, and with the water corrosion, it'll be dangerous to stay here. Perhaps we should take Wulfgar's offer to take up residence at the Jarlshold …"

"Yes, he's asked a number of times. I think it's more or less him missing our company than needing our help." There were some matters the Jarl had asked their assistance in, and they had always obliged; however, more often they found themselves at Wulfgar's fortress for celebrations. "Perhaps he wants us there permanently so he doesn't have to continuously summon us?"

"Either way," Kari's voice softened slightly, and Brochael prepared himself, "I think we should go. There's not much left for us here."

Now Brochael sobered, eying Kari knowingly, "You have ulterior motives, don't you? No need to hide them; I'm sure they're legit."

Kari flushed an extremely-light shade of pink, and Brochael grinned cheekily. "I knew it! Something embarrassing, too, by the way you're coloring." The boy averted his gaze, inclining his head so his hair shielded his face from view.

"Is it . . . a girly?" Brochael found the boy's discomfort amusing and slightly heartening; despite the ostracism he'd been dealt and the abnormality of his childhood, he'd at least retained some semblance of a normal young-adulthood.

"Brochael!" The Snow Walker hissed, the light pink that marred his face darkening. "That's a little cruel, don't you think?"

"I suppose, but it isn't every day that I'm able to see you express so much emotion," the burly man replied honestly. Kari had been opening up over the past few months and it had brought much joy to him. "And it's fun."

Kari groaned again, and Brochael decided to pursue the subject.

"It's Jessa, isn't it?"

The boy went rigid, and Brochael grinned. They had been particularly close during the journey to defeat Gudrun, but Brochael had never truly realized the emotions that may have lain between them. And then, all too suddenly, he felt his heart constricting in his chest and the smile falter.

"It seems you've finally bucked up," the man managed to bring another smile to his lips, but his tone had lowered considerably. "I'm . . . proud of you."

Kari's eyes widened and he could do nothing but stare at Brochael. He'd never received such praise before, and it was startling. A silence ensued, neither awkward nor comfortable; merely a silence filled with recognition.

"Well, if we're to be to Jarlshold as quickly as possible, I suggest you get your belongings and we leave straightaway!" Kari nodded numbly, and with that, the journey to Wulfgar's castle began.


	7. Closest Ally

**Owned by: **Catherine Fisher

**Warning: **SHORT; suggested J/K, one-sided J/H; Hakon-centric

**Note: **I apologize for such a late update! What with schoolwork and computer problems, I found little to no time for posting on FFnet. I promise this will NOT happen again, and as assurance of that I've been working diligently on a couple new installments for this =)

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**Dauntless Pluck**

**7: Closest Ally**

**Summary: **Jessa was feeling mischievous, and Hakon seemed like the perfect accomplice in her never-ending quest to make Kari smile.

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"Please, Hakon?" Jessa knew he would agree; he always did. She was his greatest friend, and she considered him one of her closest allies … but never the closest. That position was already filled when he met her, and while he wished desperately it could be his, he knew that without her 'closest ally' they would never have met.

He heaved a sigh but nodded in compliance, "I suppose, but if there are snowballs involved then kindly exclude me from whatever you've got planned."

"Fine, fine … although I think you ended up at the brunt of them all because Thorkil likes teasing you," Jessa laughed, and he couldn't help but smile. And then, low and behold, Kari rounded the corner and nearly collided with her, ending their moment and pushing him from her mind altogether. Kari blushed, although it was hardly comparable to the one marring Jessa's face.

Hakon frowned; why couldn't it be him? Couldn't she see that it wouldn't work; that they were too different? But of course, he knew she felt no such thing; she was Jessa, stubborn and unrelenting, and he was Kari, cunning and prescient. They would traverse any obstacle … even Hakon, if he allowed himself to become one.

But he wouldn't; he owed them and he cared for them far too much. So as they shyly met gazes he took his leave, as he often did … as he always would.


	8. A Brief History

**Owned by: **Catherine Fisher

**Warning: **Gudrun-centric; everyone-who-isn't-Gudrun bashing; post-Soul Thieves

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**Dauntless Pluck**

**8: A Brief History**

**Summary: **Gudrun reflects on her life.

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The Snow-Walker lounged casually in her icy throne, resting her chin upon her hand as she gazed into empty space. Her perfect plan ruined yet again by her mirror … he had a knack for destroying her dreams, even at a young age. Gudrun sighed, twisting her pallid hair between her fingers as she scrutinized it; he was her reflection, but he was her child as well, and children were known for acting against their parents. He was meant to be a vessel for her power, a storage device that ensured her magic even when that which ran through her was depleted, but she could not conjure him into existence – for even Rune-speakers were not so powerful as to create _people_, albeit empty ones.

So instead she had taken an imbecile for a mate, used him to usurp the Wulfing whose line had too often aggravated her people … and yet they had shunned her. Gudrun knew the price she would pay to preserve her power and her people, and tainting herself was not as difficult as she had once believed it would be. There was no love, nor would there ever be, especially for a Snow-walker.

Not from her people.

Not from her mate.

Not from her son.

And yet, she knew there had been a time when she felt love for all of them before allowing the cold to creep in and numb everything that was not power or ice. Perhaps it was her fate to die in the cold, alone and uncared for as her kingdom crumbled beneath her feet.


End file.
